


I Can't Lose You

by Moriartied



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Major Character Injury, Pack Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moriartied/pseuds/Moriartied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pack goes after the darach to save the Sheriff and Mama McCall. Scott gets injured.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can't Lose You

They’ve been going for three days straight by this point. No sleep, hardly any food, barely a minute to pause and catch their breaths. And it’s starting to take its toll. They’re getting sloppy. Their thoughts are just a mantra of “save them”, “save the sheriff”, “save my dad”, “save my mom”. They have to figure out the plan, figure out the plan one step ahead of the plan itself, or they’re never going to reach them in time. Scott thinks their only hope is joining with the Alphas. Stiles thinks that’s the worst idea he’s ever heard. Isaac doesn’t know what he thinks, he just wants it all to stop—no more deaths, no more kidnappings, no more losing the people he’s grown to care about. Derek hates himself.

Stiles has another bat. Not that that’s going to make a difference. No one says anything though. It’s not like they have any better ideas.

They’re in the woods, because that’s where the scent led them. The scent of the darach. Jennifer Blake, Julia Baccari, whatever it wants to call itself. Derek hasn’t spoken since they left the hospital. Well, he was unconscious for the first few hours, but now he’s got a look on his face like he’s torn between becoming a homicidal maniac and jumping off the nearest bridge. And there’s no witty banter or sarcastic taunts coming from Stiles either. His cheeks look hollow and his eyes are moist. He scrubs at them with his palms when he thinks no one’s looking. Scott is stoic and composed. Allison is tense, hand on her bow. Isaac is a few steps behind everyone else, not quite sure what his place is in the group dynamic.

It’s dark out. It’s always dark, even in the middle of the day, since the storm hasn’t let up yet. Allison slips on a patch of wet leaves and both Scott and Isaac fling out their arms to catch her before she falls. This seems to snap Derek out of his trance. “We’re getting close,” he says, voice raspy. Stiles turns around. “Is… Is my dad there?” he asks. He almost doesn’t want to know. Scott’s hand goes to his shoulder, squeezing lightly. Stiles doesn’t appear to notice. Derek turns his head, listening or smelling or whatever the hell werewolves do. After a second he nods, shortly. “And Scott’s mom.”

Scott’s hand tenses on Stiles’ shoulder and this time it’s Allison’s turn to comfort Scott. Isaac hangs back, watching Scott with wide eyes, chewing his lip.

They’ve all stopped moving, taking this moment to collect themselves, maybe throw together some semblance of a plan. Stiles kicks his bat with the toe of his shoe. Allison rocks back on her heels. Scott looks down at the ground. Isaac looks at Scott. Derek clears his throat.

“Our main goal is getting them out. Then we deal with the… the darach.”

No one says anything for a moment. Then Scott looks up. “Allison can stand guard, while we go in. Stiles has the mistletoe. Derek and I will distract it while Isaac frees the prisoners.” He’s treating it like it’s clinical. If he thinks about the fact that it’s his _mom_ in there, he’ll lose it. Everyone nods, understanding their roles.

They find the root cellar, get inside. Stiles pulse races when he sees his dad, and he almost rushes over to him, until he remembers that that’s not his job. He clutches the vial of mistletoe as the darach charges at him. It’s all a blur from that point on. Somehow they make it out. The sheriff and Mrs. McCall are safe. Stiles won’t let his father out of his sight. Allison and Isaac are unscathed. Derek has a slash across his neck, but it’s healing. Scott is—

Scott is weakly dragging himself out of the cellar, face ghostly pale, body shaking. It’s bad, they can tell, but they don’t know how bad, until he heaves forward, collapsing onto the ground. His tee shirt is drenched in blood. Derek gets to him first, rolls him over onto his back. He’s breathing, but barely. Mrs. McCall lifts up his shirt, and quickly drops it, looking away in horror. “We need to get him to the hospital. Now.” She says, voice shaky.

Isaac scoops Scott up in his arms, as he and Derek race out of the woods. Stiles and Allison hang back with the rescued victims.

The Sheriff takes a deep breath. “Stiles…” he begins, but Stiles just shakes his head. “It’s okay, Dad.” The Sheriff nods and holds out his arms, and Stiles nearly flings himself into the embrace.

The hospital is in shambles when they all finally arrive. They manage to find a room, and a doctor who’s been there going on 36 hours through the storm. Isaac paces the hallways outside the room while the doctor and Mrs. McCall work on Scott. Allison comes up behind him and reaches for his hand, giving it a squeeze. “He’ll be okay,” she says quietly. “You know he will.”

Isaac nods, but he’s not sure. Scott looks pretty bad. He’s ghostly pale, and the wounds aren’t healing at all.

Almost an hour later, the doctor comes out and says there’s nothing more he can do. That Scott is heavily sedated, his wounds cleaned and bandaged, but that the prognosis doesn’t look good. Isaac barrels past him into the room, even as the doctor protests that only family can be inside. But pack is like family, isn’t it? Isaac falls to his knees at Scott’s side, reaching for his hand.

“You can’t die,” he gasps out. “You _can’t_.” He leans his head against the bed frame, tears welling in his eyes. “I can’t lose you.”

The heart monitor beeps a slow but steady pulse. It’s reassuring, but not enough to calm Isaac’s terror at the thought of losing his _best friend._ A year ago those weren’t even words in Isaac’s vocabulary. And now they aren’t even enough to describe how he sees Scott. Scott is kind, caring, compassionate. Scott cares about him, went out of his way to make sure he was okay, took him in when he had nowhere else to live. Without meaning to, Isaac had started to think of Scott as his alpha. And his alpha couldn’t die.

He squeezes Scott’s hand, running his thumb along his palm. _Wake up,_ he pleads, _just wake up._

Stiles watches from the door. Derek has disappeared somewhere in the hospital, and Allison is down the hall talking on the phone to her dad. Isaac stays with Scott all night, hoping for a change, listening to Scott’s heartbeat and begging to hear it return to normal, for Scott to open his eyes and be okay.

Sometime around 4am he falls asleep, sitting on the floor with his head against the bed and his hand still in Scott’s. It’s not surprising, he’s fallen asleep in much stranger positions before. Mrs. McCall wakes him up in the morning when she comes in to check on Scott. He jerks awake. “Is he okay? Is he awake?” are the first words out of his mouth.

Mrs. McCall shakes her head, but as she peels away the bandages, relief is apparent on her face. “They’re healing,” she says, and all the tension rushes out of Isaac’s body.

Scott wakes up that afternoon. Stiles is the only one there when he does. Mrs. McCall finally convinced Isaac to get some food from the cafeteria. Scott blinks slowly, looking around the room.

“W-what happened?” he asks

Stiles jumps.

“Scott! Scotty-boy! Nice to have you back in the land of the living!”

Scott groans and tries to sit up, but winces as he agitates the slowly healing wounds on his stomach.

“Is everyone okay?” he asks.

Stiles nods. “My dad and your mom are fine. Derek is sulking somewhere, Allison is having family bonding time, and Isaac barely left your side once in the last twelve hours.”

Scott drops his head back against the pillow, exhausted from the effort of sitting.

Isaac gets Stiles’ text and leaves his half eaten tray on the table as he dashes towards the elevator, breaking a few Olympic records in his haste to get to Scott. He slows as he reaches the door, composing himself as he steps into the room.

“Hey,” Scott says, raising his hand weakly. Isaac beams.

“Hey.”

Stiles looks back and forth between the two, eyebrows arching. “I suddenly got an intense craving for hospital grade chocolate pudding so I’m going to leave you two to… yeah.” He pushes himself up from the chair next to Scott’s bed and ducks out the door, shooting a look at Isaac which he hopes reads “Hurt him and I will bake you in a goddamn werewolf oven,” before heading quickly down the hall.

Isaac looks at Scott, cheeks reddening. “I was worried,” he says.

Scott smiles. “I’m not going to leave you, Isaac. I promise.”


End file.
